


I Pay It Gladly

by Jevvica



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-18 11:49:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1427380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jevvica/pseuds/Jevvica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Mademoiselle, your offer recommends you.  But it solves nothing.  Even if they allowed us to carry on, when their ransom demands are not met, they will kill you.  The death of an English noblewoman in France.”  She clenched Athos' warm hand with fingers that felt they had turned to ice.</p><p>“War,” she whispered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Notes: One of my favorite new games is to write from an outsider's point of view.
> 
> This is another multi-part story, which is not how I normally operate. And, I actually have a file now named “Bunnies” and it is a list of ideas for stories for this fandom. I do not understand what this show has done to me.
> 
> I own very little and absolutely nothing related to The Musketeers.

* * *

 

Caroline smiled as Guerin approached. The Musketeer loved to practice his English with her.

“Good morning, Mademoiselle Ambassador!”

“Good morning, Monsieur Guerin. Are we nearly ready to break camp?”

“Soon, I think. You are ready to return to England, I am sure.”

“I have enjoyed my time in France and Paris very much, but I will not be sad to be home.”

“And away from all these Musketeers.” She laughed at his teasing tone.

“Not at all, Monsieur. You have been excellent guards, guides and hosts. I could not ask for a better escort to the coast.” In the weeks she had been in France, King Louis' personal guard had been a constant presence at the palace and on ventures around the countryside. Caroline had been fortunate to make many of their acquaintances and she prided herself on being quite good with names.

“Well, we still will not reach Callais until the day after tomorrow. A bit more time to work on my English, yes?”

“Your English is excellent, Monsieur Guerin.”

“Not as good as your French, Excellency.” He smiled and bowed, moving off toward the horses. Fifteen Musketeers and her own ten personal guards moved about the camp, packing away tents and equipment.

Caroline was about to help her ladies finish packing the chests for the wagon when a galloping horse and rider caught her eye. The young one. D'Artagnan, she thought, as he reined in his horse, dismounting quickly. He looked troubled. Her sharp blue eyes missed nothing as he quickly found Athos.

“Edwards,” she called out as the captain of her guards walked by.

“Mademoiselle Caroline?” In court, she adhered to the rules of conduct and propriety. But whenever possible, in private or in the country, she preferred degage etiquette. Her attendants and her guards were her friends. She relaxed at the familiar address.

“Allan...something is going on,” she said softly.

“What do you mean?”

“I don't know yet. Get everyone ready. I believe I will know soon.” He followed her gaze to the knot of Musketeers conferring around d'Artagnan. Athos' eyes met hers across the clearing. He quickly strode to her and bowed slightly.

“Your Excellency? A word, if you please.” Caroline nodded to Edwards and joined Athos. The Musketeer looked more grave than usual, which she had not thought possible. She took in the faces of the men gathered around him. Aramis, charming and handsome with an infectious smile. He had, to her great pleasure, conversed with her in Spanish on more than one occasion. Porthos, the large man next to him, had initially made her wary. He was tall and dark with a fierceness about him. One day after a hunting expedition with the King, he'd helped her down from her horse. He was as strong as she'd imagined, but even more gentle. He had a booming laugh that let anyone in camp know where he could be found.

But now, their faces were deadly serious.

“Something is wrong,” Caroline said. It wasn't a question.

“There are men on our trail. They will overtake us long before we reach Calais.”

“Are these men...hostile? Or merely travelers?” They traded looks, shifted lightly.

“It is impossible to say with certainty,” said Aramis. “But they had the look of a war party.”

“How many? What would their purpose be?”

“Thirty...forty,” answered d'Artagnan. “As to their purpose...” He looked at her pointedly.

“Ah. I see.” She lifted her chin. “Men who hope to take me and ransom me.”

“Would that be successful?” asked Athos.

“No,” replied Caroline flatly.

“Your father not love you?” growled Porthos.

“Of course he does,” she snapped, meeting his gaze. She realized he was angry on her behalf, and her tone softened. “Of course he does, but I am the fourth daughter of a minor family. My mother was a distant, but favored cousin of King Charles. When she died, he offered me a place at court. I asked to be an ambassador. I've no power, no influence. But for a woman with no desire to marry...”

“You found adventure,” finished Aramis knowingly.

“I found freedom,” she amended. “If this is adventure, I certainly didn't go looking for it.”

“But, as a minor envoy,” said Athos.

“I've no worth. I'm meant to be a pleasing dinner companion, not a political player,” Caroline finished. “They were the terms I accepted when I was granted the position. I cannot be used against my country and my King.”

“Expendable,” muttered d'Artagnan.

“We all serve as we can,” she said. She was pleased when her voice did not waiver.

“So what? We just turn her over to them?” Porthos' temper had not cooled.

“We can't hope to out run them. Not with the wagons,” said Aramis.

“Leave the wagons,” offered Caroline. “I don't care about clothes and gifts. I care for my ladies, for my guards.”

“Can your attendants ride hard for two days? Can you?” The answer must have been written on her face, because Athos wasted little time continuing. “Even unburdened, I doubt we would out pace them, if they are truly what we believe.”

Caroline had always known there was danger in this life. That one day, this might happen. Even though she had never believed it would truly come to pass, it was a terrible and easy choice.

“I will go,” she said. Porthos growled and Aramis held up his hand, but whether to halt his anger or her words, she didn't know. “Perhaps, when they have me,” she went on, raising her voice, “they will leave you all unharmed.” Athos, much to her surprise, reached out and took her hand.

“Mademoiselle, your offer recommends you.” His green eyes searched her face. “But it solves nothing. Even if they allowed us to carry on, when their ransom demands are not met, they will kill you. The death of an English noblewoman in France.” She clenched Athos' warm hand with fingers that felt they had turned to ice.

“War,” she whispered.

“So soon after La Rochelle? Yes, most certainly.” She took a deep breath, released his hand, and raised her eyes.

“What do you suggest?”

“You will ride ahead with two Musketeers. The rest of us will either stop them or delay them as long as we can.”

“Just...leave you behind?” Caroline asked incredulously.

“We will move slower, but we'll continue on as if nothing is amiss. We will serve to block your escape if they are watching and stop them if they engage. I would say that this could all be precautionary. That they are merely hunters or ordinary robbers. But...we are rarely that lucky,” offered Athos, with a wry twist of his lip.

“And my people?”

“If it is to look like you are still with the main party, then they must stay,” said Aramis. “They will be far better protected that way.” Caroline had no better plan, nothing else to offer. She hated that her safety endangered these foolishly brave men who owed her nothing.

“Very well,” she said, setting her shoulders. “I can be ready in fifteen minutes.”

“I'm going with her,” said Porthos. Athos eyed him expressionlessly and then nodded.

“I suppose that means you volunteer as well?” he asked Aramis.

“I suppose it does,” Aramis answered with an easy smile.

“Then we'd better get ready,” said Athos. Caroline nearly ran across the clearing to her attendants.

“Ladies, listen carefully.”

 

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 

A quarter of an our later, she stood next to her horse, ready to depart. She'd changed from a traveling dress to loose trousers, just as her side saddle had been traded out for a cross saddle. Her ladies fussed with her pack nervously. She hadn't kept anything from them. How could she? They were in danger as well.

Edwards was furious. She could see it in the way he strode over, two pistols in a scabbard dangling from his hand.

“Take these,” She nodded, and swung the scabbard over her saddle. “My lady, I do not like this.”

“I know. I know, Allan, nor do I. But I do not see another choice. As impetuous as they seem, I trust these Musketeers to do what they say they can, which is to keep us all alive. You will meet up with us in Callais, at an inn called The Lady of the Port.” She reached out and laid her hand over the fist Allan had clenched on his sword. “Please Allan, keep my ladies safe. And yourself.”

“Caroline...there are things I would have you know...”

“Then you will tell me in Calais,” she interrupted gently. “For you will see me again there.” His jaw bunched, but he finally nodded.

“Mademoiselle Ambassador?” Aramis stood behind her, reins in hand. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” Allan held her stirrup and she swung up into her saddle. His gloved hand rested on her ankle. “Do not tarry too long, Captain Edwards,” she said, looking down at him and smiling with all the warmth she could muster. “You know I hate to be kept waiting.” Caroline was rewarded with a deep bow and the beginnings of a smile.

“I will do my best, my lady.” She urged her horse to follow Aramis' and though she longed to, she didn't look back.

 

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 

Once they cleared the trees, they galloped for a while, to put distance between themselves and the campsite, but soon slowed to a cantor and then to a trot. Caroline tried to relax, but she found herself jumping at every twig that snapped. Aramis and Porthos looked at ease and it was mildly infuriating. How could they be so damnably calm? She expected composure from soldiers, but it only served to support her suspicion that these men found themselves in trouble a great deal of the time. She looked at the Musketeer to her left.

“May I ask you something, Monsieur Pothos?” Maybe a conversation would distract her. He nodded. “Why did you want to accompany me?”

“You took a risk to live the life you wanted,” answered Porthos. He gave her a shy smile and looked back out over the grassy meadow and the trees in the distance. “I admire that.”

“Thank you,” she said, warmth rising in her cheeks. “Though you are very much so in a minority with that opinion.” When Porthos met her eyes again, he looked wistful.

“I'm used to it, Excellency.”

Suddenly, his face sharpened. "Company." Caroline looked toward the tree line, where six men on horses had emerged and were riding toward them. She quickly pulled up her hood as Aramis and Porthos positioned themselves along either side of her.

Aramis blew gently on his lit musket fuse, laying the weapon across his lap.

"Pardon us, gentlemen!" called one of the men.

"That is close enough," yelled Aramis, holding up a hand. The men stopped.

"We are looking for a friend," shouted the man, wearing a deep green cloak. "She has been separated from our party."

"No lost women here," answered Porthos. Caroline kept her face down, barely breathing.

"Aramis," she whispered. "They're English."

"Yes," answered Aramis softly. "Their accents are atrocious. Do you recognize the voices?"

"I do not."

"Come now, you are certain you haven't seen her? What about your quiet friend, there?"

"We haven't seen whoever it is you're looking for, so, if you will move aside gentlemen, we are the King's Musketeers and we have an appointment to keep," replied Aramis.

"Come now, Lady Caroline. Are you going to make this difficult?" She flinched. It must have been enough, because the man began to laugh, chilling her to the bone. “My, it's good we were watching the road for anyone trying to slip away. Because that won't do at all.” She looked up, but didn't lower her hood.

The six men fanned out in front of them, hands resting easily on pistol handles.

“Aramis,” said Porthos quietly. “I'll take care of this and meet up with you later.”

“That,” said Aramis through gritted teeth, “is an awful plan.”

“What choice do we have?”

“No.”

“I hate running.” It sounded like an apology. “Besides, you know I've been wantin' to use it.” The smile he threw Aramis was mischievous, but there was something else beneath it.

“Porthos...” There was an entire conversation in their eyes that she was missing. Porthos held out a hand and Aramis hesitated before handing over his glowing fuse.

“I will meet you, Aramis,” repeated Porthos firmly. He surged ahead, placing himself and his horse between them and the men.

“Stand aside. We only want the woman.”

“I'm 'fraid not,” rumbled Porthos.

Aramis looked at her, his eyes wild.

“Mademoiselle, in a moment, ride as fast as you can.”

“Alone?” she whispered, finally frightened.

“No,” answered Aramis thickly. “I'll be with you. No matter what, don't stop, don't look back. As fast as you can.” She nodded, hands tight on the reins. The man in green was still yelling at Porthos.

“There is no need for you or your friend to die. Just give her over.”

“No.” Porthos was motionless on his horse, his hands relaxed in front of the saddle, but it was the kind of stillness before a storm. Imminent. Dangerous.

“Is one English girl really worth your life? For that will be the price.”

“I pay it gladly.”

Caroline's heart clenched. And then everything was chaos. Porthos threw something at the men. The earth at their feet erupted in dirt and stone. Men and horses screamed.

“Now!” bellowed Aramis. Caroline kicked her horse to a gallop, in the direction Aramis indicated before she realized what she was doing. They raced across the meadow, the sounds of gunshots fading away, and she realized Porthos wasn't coming.

And she remembered the look on Aramis' face.

She didn't stop. She didn't look back.

 

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes: One of my favorite new games is to write from an outsider's point of view.
> 
> I own very little and absolutely nothing related to The Musketeers.

* * *

 

Aramis opened the door of the room, ushered her in and shut it firmly behind them. Caroline set her pack down and _breathed_. Solid walls around her and she felt the flyaway pieces of herself coming back together.

They encountered no trouble on their flight to Calais, but it was still a blur of horses and walking and fear-filled darkness. The few hours that they had stopped when it became too dark to ride on were some of the longest of her life. Caroline had no intention of sleeping, but she must have dozed at some point. She dreamt of a line of dead men, Porthos, Edwards, looking at her with hollow eyes.

_Your life is the price._

_I pay it gladly._

Her eyes had snapped open to Aramis' hand on her shoulder. It had taken everything in her, every bit of will and poise not to gallop like a madwoman all the way to Calais.

They had arrived at The Lady of the Port around mid-day and Aramis had secured them a room on the second floor with access to the walkway that overlooked the courtyard.

Aramis roamed the room once, tossed his hat on the table and then pulled a chair to the window. He made a move to sit, but straightened up again, running his hands through his hair, . He stared out the window and then turned toward her.

He looked like a caged animal. And she was tired of controlling mens' fates.

“Go,” said Caroline.

“I can't,” responded Aramis, but it sounded beseeching.

“You delivered me safely, no one knows we're here. I'll wait, stay out of sight. Go find him.” Aramis paused and then shook his head, face wooden.

“I can't leave you unguarded in a foreign city. We don't know who is watching. Porthos will meet us here. Athos was behind us, if anything went wrong...,” he ran a hand roughly over his face. “Athos will take care of it.”

Caroline gripped the edge of the table, thoughts running wild. What if they were all dead? Her guards, Edwards, her friends, all those Musketeers? What if there was no Athos or d'Artagnan to assist Porthos? What if Porthos was beyond all helping?

She didn't dare voice any of it. But she didn't need to, she heard all of it in the things Aramis didn't say.

“No. No, I'll stay here, no chance of missing each other. They'll be here soon enough,” he said smoothly. The less observant might have actually believed him. He unbuckled his sword, his belts and settled himself in the chair by the window. After a few minutes, he took a deep breath and proceeded to carefully and methodically clean his musket. Caroline studied him for a time.

As he polished and rubbed, she watched some of the tension leave him. He had never looked out of control, in danger of panic, but it was there. Just beneath that ready smile and even voice. He'd wanted to gallop from this place as fast as he could to find Porthos, to help his friends. She knew it. And yet he stayed.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Hours later, she wanted to ask Aramis how many times he planned on cleaning his guns. How dirty could they have gotten in the quarter of an hour since he last cleaned them? But it was the only thing he had to do, other than watch every person coming and going. Which he did, unfailingly. Hoping for their friends, but bracing for something else. Caroline could plainly see his exhaustion.

“We can't expect Athos and the others until tomorrow. You should rest.”

“Porthos could arrive at any time.”

“I can watch for him.” He shook his head, never looking up.

“Monsieur Aramis, I can promise these pistols aren't just for show. I am an accomplished shot.” He made no move from the window or to set his gun down. “Very well then,” she sighed. “Here.” She placed both of her pistols on the table, within his reach. “You might as well clean mine as well. Before you rub yours away to nothing.” Aramis smiled at her ruefully. She resisted a sudden urge to ruffle his hair, so much he looked like an impish child who intended to be good, but could never seem to manage it.

“One of us might as well get some sleep,” she said instead. She lay down on the bed. “Wake me in a few hours?”

“Of course, Mademoiselle.”

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

He didn't, but she woke up anyway. It didn't look like Aramis had moved, but he must have. The sun had set, the room was lit by a few candles and the well banked fire. A plate of cheese and bread sat next to a bottle of wine on the table. Caroline sat up slowly, muscled protesting.

Her pistols fairly shone in the firelight. She couldn't decide whether it made her want to laugh or cry.

“There's food, Mademoiselle Ambassador, if you're hungry.”

She wasn't. She felt hollowed out, but not hungry. Weary of long hours of waiting and yet dreading what tomorrow could bring. Caroline longed for the friendship of her ladies. She missed her quiet, capable Edwards. Abruptly, she smoothed her hands over her lap and straightened her shoulders. No getting maudlin. No weeping. Caroline did the only thing she could think of to do. She was an excellent conversationalist.

“Why did you come with me?” Aramis looked surprised by her sudden question.

“I have an overly developed sense of fealty,” he quipped lightly.

“Fealty,” she repeated dully.

“Is that not a good enough reason?”

“It would be, if I thought it were true...or...” she tilted her head, analyzing him closely. “Or it _was_ fealty. Just not to me.” Aramis shifted slightly, just enough that she knew she was right.

“A man so brave as Porthos must have need of someone at his side constantly,” said Caroline playfully.

“I believe you mean bull-headed. And that is why he ends up in trouble. That's why he's...” Aramis stopped. When he spoke again, he tone was much cooler. “He is doing his duty, as are we all. We serve France and the King.” She shook her head.

“Do not discount it. I have seen many a man do their duty and end up hollow for it. Monsieur Porthos has honor. He does what he thinks is right and it fills him with vibrant fire.” When Aramis turned his suddenly anguished eyes on her, it felt like a slap.

“And when he burns out?” She dropped her gaze. The silence grew heavy as she realized what he meant. It didn't matter if it was an honorable death, a respectable sacrifice.

To Aramis, it would just be _loss_.

Finally, she spoke again.

“You are angry with me for causing all this. You are angry with him, because you care for him,” she said quietly. “But can you truly say you wish him any different?”

Aramis cocked his head slightly and peered at her, calculating.

“What a strangely familiar thing to say, Mademoiselle.” Caroline took a deep breath, and assumed the role she played, posture perfect. When she answered him, her voice was cultured and demure.

“I should be able to converse with any man or woman at any court I visit. I am clever, but I must never be seen as more clever than my host. I am to be charming, but not a flirt. Agreeable, but never weak. A splendid guest and one that knows just when to take her leave.” She smiled at his puzzled look. “If I am to be all these things, Monsieur Aramis, I had ought to be able to understand the people around me. I have been in your court for weeks. I believe I have gleaned a thing or two about you all.”

“Such as?” he challenged. Caroline had no intention of disappointing.

“You, Athos, d'Artagnan, and Porthos are often assigned to the King at the same time. I wondered at it, but I realized you are not just compatriots, but friends. Your Captain Treville clearly prefers to keep you four together. Partly, I'm sure, you work well in collaboration. But I could always know which Musketeers would be accompanying us by his manner.” Aramis raised an eyebrow, clearly disbelieving.

“If it was a company involving all four of you, he always looked more at ease, more willing to let you all be the watchful eyes. He trusts you. I take it as a compliment, really, that he sent you to accompany me.” She pursed her lips, thinking. “Athos is terribly serious, almost cold. But...sometimes...when he thinks no one is watching and someone has done something amusing, he nearly smiles.” Aramis nodded and she continued.

“D'artagnan is young, but not only in age. He's uncertain. He clearly hasn't been a Musketeer for long. He looks to others to take his cues.”

Aramis snorted. The gloom lifted from him a bit.

“In the palace, perhaps. He would do well to be a tad more cautious in other matters.”

“Mmmh...that is interesting coming from you.”

“Meaning?”

“You bow to the Queen, and yet you never lower your eyes. And she will meet your gaze. Every time.”

“And what does that say about me?” There was a bait, but Caroline did not rise to it. She didn't want to fight with Aramis.

“That you should be more careful,” she said softly. “The King is a child, naïve and desperate for approval. He trusts his Musketeers implicitly, but the Cardinal,” she paused. “The Cardinal is a snake. Watchful, smart and cunning. He makes my skin crawl. Monsieur Aramis, if it suited his purposes, he would kill you and never think of you again.” She'd just shown her hand, little faith in Louis and outright suspicion of the Cardinal. But she wasn't terribly worried. Caroline was convinced she'd read them all correctly and they had no love for Richelieu. Aramis studied her with an unreadable expression.

“You're wrong about one thing.”

“Oh?

“I am not angry with you. You did nothing to cause any of this.”

“Perhaps not, but it does not change the fact that my friends, and yours, are in danger solely because these men came after me.” He did not try to argue.

“Tell me more,” he said, leaning back.

“About?”

“Us. The court. Paris. I don't particularly care.” She pulled her legs up, leaning against the wall.

“I went hunting with King Louis. He's not a terrible shot, but I don't know how he ever expects to get a kill when he cannot stop talking. Talking and talking, but never actually saying much of import.” Aramis smiled and stretched his legs out, folding his hands across his chest. “Or those puns. God above, the puns. But he isn't entirely hopeless. He loves beautiful things. I saw some of the buildings he has commissioned. Visited with some of the artists he has given patronage. Louis truly wants Paris to be a shining city. He has vision for that, at least.” As she spoke, Caroline watched Aramis' gaze fall somewhere in the middle distance and lose focus. She lowered her voice.

“Captain Treville cares for you like sons. He doesn't just look at you like reliable soldiers. I said he trusts you, and he does. But I think you lot have a knack for trouble. And only a father could smile on such a propensity.” Aramis' blinked slowly. “And he does smile, quietly to himself, with considerable fondness.”

“Porthos made me uneasy at first. He's boisterous and unapologetic. But I see now, why he is that way. He's bigger and stronger than most. His very skin betrays his difference, before he ever speaks. When you are going to stand out, no matter what you do, what use is there in attempting to hide it?” Aramis' eyes slid shut. “And he is brave and proud. He would never wish to hide it.”

Caroline dropped her volume to a near whisper. “And you, Monsieur. You show your affection far easier than any of the others. And that is its own bravery. For all of the perceived gallantry of battle, I know it took just as much courage to ride away with me. To leave them behind.” His breathing was deep, even. “And I thank you for it.”

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

  
Aramis jerked awake with shout. He looked around the room frantically, before his gaze fell on her and he seemed to remember where he was. He slumped back in his chair, looking haggard and no more rested for the hours he'd been asleep.

“What is it?” Caroline asked.

“Nothing.” She sighed deeply.

“Monsieur Aramis, we have nothing but time.” He stared at her and then stared out the window at the grey light of early morning. She thought he'd ignored her entirely when he finally spoke.

“Several years ago, I was part of a mission that was ambushed. This has stirred up old memories, it seems.” She made a sound of understanding, but waited. He fidgeted, restless again.

“Everyone died.” Caroline's eyes widened. “Everyone died but me,” he finished in a cracked murmur.

She rose and stood across the window from him. His gaze slowly found hers.

They weren't friends. They lived in different worlds. But at last, she understood the barely restrained terror that surrounded him, that had been their nearly constant companion. He could once again be the lone survivor. The only one left of his friends and comrades. It would kill him. Caroline saw it clearly in the lines around his eyes that had deepened since only yesterday, the clench of his fists, the draw of his shoulders.

She knelt at his feet, took his hands in her own. She squeezed them and poured all of her will and bearing into her voice.

“Not this time. Your Musketeers are formidable as any I have every witnessed. And,” she said, allowing a small smile, “your friends seem a bit mad. Which makes them all the more dangerous.” Her smile widened as Aramis returned it, ever so slightly. “This time with be different, Aramis.” He startled slightly.

“Apologies,” she said, “But, if you are amenable, I believe we have reached a point past formalities.”

“I agree. And...thank you, Caroline,” he concurred. His hands returned her grip.

 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not mean for this story to be so long.
> 
> But when Aramis and Caroline got together, they just would NOT shut up.  
> I have pages of conversations that I'm not even going to use...


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was never supposed to be this long.

* * *

 

“Caroline.” She blinked awake, hand moving to her pistol. Aramis was pulling his braces to his shoulders, with barely restrained agitation. “They're here.”

She hear it now, the sounds of men and horses filling the courtyard. She followed Aramis out to the balcony. She quickly spotted Edwards and her guards and her ladies, seemingly unhurt. Caroline took her first easy breath in days. Her eyes skimming over the Musketeers. They looked road-weary, but she didn't spot many injuries past cuts and bruises.

Athos nodded to Aramis, who lifted a hand in greeting, but continued to scan the filling yard. She felt her smile die on her lips.

“Oh no,” she whispered and leaned out, searching for sight of a tall, dark Musketeer. Beside her, Aramis had a white-knuckled grip on the railing, his eyes darting from one figure to another.

“Looking for someone?”

Porthos stood at the end of the walkway, thumbs hooked in his belt and smiling in a very self-satisfied manner.

Aramis did not release his hold on the railing, but let his chin fall to his chest. Caroline watched uncertainly as he sucked in gasping breaths, like he had just surfaced from some great depth. But when he looked up, his smile broke like the dawn. Porthos laughed his deep, rolling laugh and held out his hand. Aramis took it and pulled the big man into an embrace. Caroline didn't miss the wince that flashed across his face and Aramis must have felt it, because he immediately pulled back.

“You're hurt?”

“It's a scratch, I'm fine.” Aramis leveled Porthos with a stern look.

“You will of course understand if I don't take your word for it. Let me see.”

“You know I will,” said Porthos grudgingly. “Admit it,” he teased, reaching out to pat Aramis' chest. “I frightened you.” Aramis covered the hand with his own.

“I was quaking.” The words felt like a well-rehearsed joke between friends, but deeper somehow. Caroline had the distinct feeling she was witnessing something intimate and cleared her throat softly.

Porthos stepped back from Aramis and bowed. When he straightened up, she dipped into the deepest curtsy, one knee to the floor and stayed there. She looked up at this man, who'd been willing to die to protect her. Who would have done it gladly.

“I am not a fool, Monsieur Porthos. I do not think myself grand because of an accident of birth. I know much of who and what I am is due to chance and luck. And you prove it further. I owe you everything, for what you did.” Porthos looked down at her, flabbergasted. He took a few stuttering steps and then quickly reached down to draw her to her feet.

“I woulda done it for anyone.”

“I know,” she did nothing to temper the wonder in her voice. “I know and believe me, it does not diminish the act in my eyes. The knowledge that you would sacrifice like that for anyone only adds to your esteem. Whether it was for me or for peace, it does not matter. You fight for people who cannot fight for themselves. _That_ is bravery. _That_ is heroic.” Porthos looked as if he would argue, but he stopped and stared at her. She met his dark, searching gaze. Whatever he found, Porthos stood a little straighter, a bit taller and he smiled. He was suddenly innocence and light, in a way that surprised her.

“'M not usually the hero.”

“I find that very hard to believe, Monsieur. Today, you most certainly are.” He dipped his head again, unable to hide his pleasure.

“My lady!” Caroline looked down to the courtyard to see her attendants waving with joyful smiles, Edwards just beside them. Porthos quietly stepped back toward Aramis and she hurried to the steps and down to the ground.

Edwards stood tall and straight and beautifully alive. He bowed slightly.

“My lady, I am pleased to see you well.”

Propriety. Dignity. Deportment.

All of it flashed through her head and she firmly decided she didn't care. The courtyard was a cacophony of reunion, relief and life. Why should she hold herself apart from it?

Caroline reached up and wrapped her arms around her captain's neck.

“Allan,” she said. Nothing else.

It was enough.

His strong arms held her close without hesitation. “Allan.”

 

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 

Her attendants were eager to bathe and transform her from fugitive to proper lady once again. Caroline was less excited, but she couldn’t deny her desire to done with this business and on her way safely home.

The common room of the inn was bustling with rowdy Musketeers, her own guards, and a lively blend of locals. She spotted Athos and d'Artagnan and made her way toward them. Many Musketeers called out greetings and she took her time to speak to and thank them.

“Mademoiselle,” said Athos, rising to stand, d'Artagnan a moment behind. Caroline waved them down and took a seat herself. “You look well.”

“Happy to see everyone safe and sound,” she answered. “But I could use an accurate account of what happened after we left the main party. According to my guards, it was absolutely nothing to remark upon. They don't want me to worry. And according to the Musketeers, it was the greatest battle ever fought by free men and gets more harrowing every time they tell it.” Caroline smiled. “But you, Monsieur Athos, you will tell me the truth.”

“Very well,” said Athos with a near-smile. He seemed almost gratified at her statement. “The men we spotted did attack, an hour or so after you left. It was not a long altercation. They were not terribly skilled nor very passionate. Mercenaries is my guess. Most ran after it became clear they were outmatched. We took no losses or major injuries. Your men conducted themselves well.” She nodded proudly.

“And Porthos?” Athos' eyes slid to d'Artagnan who shifted quietly.

“We met up with him the next day. The six men you encountered will not be troubling you any more, Excellency.” Caroline stared at Athos thoughtfully. She couldn't even begin to imagine how much he was not telling her. Was it Porthos he was protecting? Or her?

His eyes were cool. Athos was honorable and true, she had no doubt of it. But that did not mean he would offer her every detail. And Caroline was not certain she wanted them.

She inclined her head slightly, acknowledging what he'd said. And what he hadn't.

 

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 

When the evening wore on and Caroline finally agreed to retire, she realized her bag was still in the room she had shared with Aramis. When she opened the door, the room was lit by several candles.

Porthos sat against the headboard of the bed, shirtless, chest wrapped in bandages.

“Oh, Monsieur Porthos,” she flustered, shocked, “forgive me, I...” He held a finger to his lips and motioned her to enter with a wicked grin. She approached the bed warily and then smiled when she saw who lay on the other side of Porthos' long legs.

Aramis snored softly, his face pressed to Porthos' thigh. The lines and worry that had aged him the past few days had fallen away. He looked content and utterly at ease.

“How are you, Monsieur Porthos?” she whispered. “Are you badly wounded? Do you need anything?”

“Nah,” he murmured. “A little cut, nothing too bad. Aramis saw to it.”

“I am glad of it.” She looked at the sleeping Musketeer. “And I'm glad he's finally sleeping.” Caroline paused, uncertain how much she should share. Then Porthos smiled down at Aramis with such fondness, her hesitation evaporated. “He found it very hard to rest while you were gone.”

“He's a worrier, our Aramis,” nodded Porthos. He looked up at her. “Wanted to thank you.”

“Me?!” her voice was loud in her surprise, but Aramis never stirred. “What,” she continued quietly, “could you possibly have to thank me for?”

“I know how he seems. All charmin' talk and smooth manners. But when Aramis is worked up? Frettin'? He can be a bit destructive. Makes bad choices.”

“I never felt like he was going to be violent.” Porthos looked suddenly sad, but it was gone quickly.

“Not always that kind of destruction,” he rumbled. “Don't matter. What matters is he didn't, and I don't know what you did, if you even knew you did anythin'. I'm still grateful.”

“I could never begin to repay you and the Musketeers for seeing us safely here. I'm glad to have been of some use, even if I've no idea what it was.” She thought back. “We talked a lot. There was little else to do.”

“Aramis likes to talk. Athos doesn't. And I'm not good at it, not the way Aramis is.” Porthos shrugged and then winced. “Might have been it.”

“Are you certain you don't need anything, Monsieur Porthos? You look like you're in pain.”

“Please, Mademoiselle. I'm fine. No need to worry.”

“As you say. I will bid you goodnight, then.” Caroline quietly picked up her pack and turned to leave. She looked back in time to see Porthos slide a hand through Aramis' hair. She shut the door behind her.

Such remarkable men.

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contemplating doing this story from Porthos' point of view.  
> Thoughts?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Done. Finally.

* * *

 

Caroline stood in the early morning light and watched the trunks and crates being loaded on their ship. The dock bustled with sailors, workers, and merchants. Her attendants were already aboard, readying her cabin. Her guards were checking the ship and keeping a wary eye on the wharf. They were so close to being safely away, they were taking no chances. She could see the Musketeers moving through the crowd. Apparently, Athos wasn't taking any, either.

“Caroline.” She turned, delighted to see Aramis.

“Good morning, Aramis.”

“Good morning, Mademoiselle. I believe you are nearly ready to depart.”

“Indeed. I thought I'd love a good adventure, but I have found it rather exhausting,” she said with a laugh. “I don't know how you do it.”

“You seem to think everyday is explosions and daring escapes,” answered Aramis lightly. “I'll have you know, there are a great many utterly ordinary days. Boring guard duty. Parades.”

“I don't believe you. Not for a second.” Aramis smiled mischievously and she couldn't help but smile back.

“May I ask you something?”

“Aramis, you may ask me anything.”

“You said you had no desire to marry. That the life of an ambassador gave you the freedom you wanted.”

“I did.”

“Tell me,” said Aramis, his eyes tracking Edwards before settling back on her. “Is that still so?” Caroline looked down, feeling the blush rise to her cheeks.

“Edwards and I have much to discuss,” she said quietly. He studied her a moment.

“Love is not the cage you seem to imagine, Caroline.” She looked up sharply.

“I never said anything against love. But surely you cannot deny that you are as bound to this life, this danger, as firmly as if you were chained.” Aramis said nothing, but toyed with his hat. “You love it. You love _them_.” She looked toward Porthos, Athos, and d'Artagnan, who stood near the gangplank. “I will not say it is a cage. But we must all choose what we are willing to lose and what we could never bear to live without.”

“Sometimes, a heavy cost,” nodded Aramis. “I pay it gladly.”

Caroline cleared her throat lightly.

“As I said, we have much to discuss. And we will come to an agreement, or we will not. But I will no longer deny that I finally wish to have the conversation. Perhaps, I too, will find an acceptable price.

“My lady?” Caroline turned and saw Edwards approaching. “My lady, we are ready to depart. The captain does not want to lose the tide.”

“Of course,” she nodded. She followed Edwards to the gangplank and looked at the Musketeers assembled there.

Caroline realized she would miss them. Athos' quiet composure, D'artagnan's eagerness, Porthos' vitality, Aramis' charisma. They were compelling individuals.

Perhaps she had enjoyed the adventure more than she was willing to admit. She turned to Athos.

“I could spend my life attempting it and I would never succeed in repaying you and your Musketeers. But I would try. Anything you need, just ask, and I will see it done.”

“We do our duty, Mademoiselle,” said Athos kindly.

“If you are ever in need, do not hesitate to contact me.” She carefully make eye contact with each of them. “I will do whatever I can.”

“Thank you, Excellency. Hopefully, we never had need of your offer.”

“We can only hope, Monsieur. But you lead terribly exciting lives. Let's not rule anything out.” Porthos laughed and Athos smiled. She curtsied and smiled at them. “Farewell and be safe.”

“You as well, Caroline,” said Aramis. She nodded and walked up the gangplank. It was quickly pulled in behind her and the ship cast off.

Caroline watched the blue cloaks until long after they grew small and became one with the water.

 

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have decided. I will do this story, at least in part, from Porthos' point of view.  
> I'm curious what happened after Aramis and Caroline rode away...  
> ;)
> 
> Oh, and here's the title inspiration:
> 
> John Preston: There's no war. No murder.  
> Partridge: What is it you think we do?  
> John Preston: No. You've been with me, you've seen how it can be - the jealousy, rage.  
> Partridge: A heavy cost. I pay it gladly.  
> \--Equilibrium

**Author's Note:**

> **Bonus points to who ever knows the source of the title.


End file.
